The side walk shown with
the glistening of rain falling
for the first time in the autumn changing.
That it happened a million times before
was of no consequence.
Golden leaves hung clean from trees
that had begun to hide beneath the winter sidewalk.
They glanced from the window
high above the world,
paused with a glass of wine in their hands.
An image of people
rushing to warmth and
arms of lovers or children
met their gaze.
Umbrellas were the disguise
they wore on that black windy evening…
a yearning for what they could not see
lay in the breasts of those that watched.
What, they thought, did that night
hold for people rushing from
what they had known into the glistening void?